


Ten Paces and Turn

by hibernate



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, F/F, Gen, Kadara Port, Post-High Noon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29640609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/pseuds/hibernate
Summary: Post-High Noon. The natural conclusion to leaving the Collective — or rather, Keema Dohrgun — in charge of Kadara Port.
Relationships: Keema Dohrgun & Reyes Vidal, Keema Dohrgun & Sloane Kelly, Keema Dohrgun/Foster Addison
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Ten Paces and Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commoncomitatus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commoncomitatus/gifts).



**1.**

"I heard the most curious rumor the other day," Keema says, brushing a hand over her shoulder, as if she could brush away the stink of Tartarus and keep it from clinging to her skin. "It's about your old nemesis."

Reyes has heard the same thing. She can tell by the way his jaw tightens briefly, before the smirk settles back on his lips.

"She is good at surviving," he says, shrug aiming for careless and almost succeeding. "I will give her that."

Leaning back in her seat, Keema tilts her head, making her voice a little sharper. "Did you not think to check?"

He blinks once, irritation barely noticeable. "Sloane was dead on the ground," he says. "I had my people get rid of her body. It would appear one of them had a different idea."

"Was it that human Pathfinder? I heard she was quite angry with you."

Taking a sip from his drink, Reyes smile turns wider, cheekier. "You seem to be hearing a lot of things, my friend."

They're not really friends, and he doesn't mean to imply that they are. Words draw lines and borders, and these are meant as a warning. Well, two can play that game.

"Yes," Keema says, baring her teeth. "That is why we make such good business partners, is it not?"

He chuckles, a little self-deprecating, and shrugs. "It's always a pleasure to do business with the Charlatan."

Despite the smile on his lips, there's a moody air about him; he did not expect an outcome like this. Rumor need not be true for the repercussions to be real enough. Those who were Sloane's enemies will be spooked by the looming specter of her ghost, and to those who still have a measure of sympathy for her — who knows what sort of flames will be fanned? Few things carry more power than a symbol, especially one rising from the dead.

Keema did not expect this outcome either. Something about it chafes, some uncomfortable emotion in her chest that will lead her down the wrong path if she lets it. If only past details could be fudged and things be changed, Keema would make sure to never set a foot in Tartarus — but time cannot be turned back and she cannot regret the results. It might leave a bad taste in her mouth, but she can live with that.

Standing, Keema wipes her hands on her pants, preoccupied for a moment with the idea of a bath. "Perhaps," she says, "you should look into what your people do when you turn your back."

**2.**

Taxes must be settled on and trade agreements drawn up. The Pathfinder's eyes glaze over before Keema has reached the end of the sentence. That's all well and good: Ryder is a fist, a tool good for punching a way through obstacles. This requires someone with more finesse.

"Make friends with them," Reyes says, eying through the files sent over by the Initiative, fingers tapping on the datapad. "Make them feel welcome. On our terms, of course."

The Collective's terms are angaran terms now, Keema has made sure of that. She doesn't share the Roekarr's short-sighted ideas, but Kadara Port belongs to the angara. Sloane would never accept it for a fact, but Reyes left the door open and gave her a path.

"The Collective wishes to build bridges," Keema tells the Initiative Director over vidcall. 

Presented in front of her in this alien technology, Director Addison is a blue shadow with a voice that cannot be ignored. "And you want the Initiative to pay for your bridges," she replies, arms crossed. "I read through your revisions."

"Those revisions include a reasonable tax for putting an outpost on angaran ground."

"And yet your leaders on Aya tell me Kadara is not subject to angaran sovereignty."

Her voice has taken on a hint of smugness. Does the human intend to be so irritating or is it simply a personality flaw? 

"It's… a matter yet to be determined," Keema says, suppressing the urge to grimace. "In the meantime, the tax is for using ground claimed by the Collective. In return, you have our full cooperation."

Pausing, waiting until the proper effect has been achieved, she adds, voice a tad lower: "If someone else were to rule Kadara Port, you might not find them as accommodating."

The mood changes; something flits over the human's face. They come in so many shades and shapes, these humans, but no color carries through the holographic tech; Addison flickers blue and far away. Brow furrowing, she seems to hesitate. "I heard your… predecessor was less than eager to allow an outpost on Kadara, while she was alive."

The unspoken name gives the space between them weight. One keeps track of one's own, even among these many mingled aliens from far away.

"Sloane Kelly," Keema says, the name heavy on her tongue, "would never have allowed one of your outposts on Kadara."

"No," Addison agrees. "I don't expect she would have."

"She wasn't the only one with reservations about the Initiative. You should consider yourself lucky that I'm the one you're negotiating with."

Holding herself stiffer, Addison's gaze turns searching. "It's in the Initiative's best interest that our relationship with Kadara Port is mutually beneficial," she says. Her voice is softer than before, richer. "But it's in your best interest too."

She is not wrong. Efvra always talks about the big picture, and maybe this time, Keema will heed that advice. 

The agreement she signs is not one Reyes will approve of.

**3.**

Some people end up dead. It's a shame — some of them were even tolerable — but the leash is tightening, the flow of information and trust being controlled from the shadows, from a table in a corner of Tartarus. Sloane always was one of Reyes's blind-spots, and Keema knows him well enough to be aware of the implications he sees in these rumors, the bigger problems lurking under the surface.

Necessary though it may be, the business of it turns her stomach.

"Someone broke Kaetus out of his cell," Keema informs Reyes when they meet at Tartarus.

"I'm aware," he mutters, not even bothering to hide the annoyance lingering on his brow.

Keema shrugs. "I'll be happy to be rid of his incessant whining. He wasn't worth the food we fed him anyway."

"Without Sloane, he is nothing but a puppy looking for a new master. Only one person would care enough to risk breaking him out." Reyes shakes his head. "Sloane could never fool me."

"You're becoming paranoid," Keema points out, studying the strain on his face. "Is it normal for human hair to change color? You're turning gray."

A hand stroking through his hair: vanity. Humans spend so much time growing and preening their furs. Sloane's braids grew gray streaks after settling on Kadara too — perhaps it is something about the air.

"Worry less about that and more about where you sign the Charlatan’s name," Reyes says, effectively changing the topic.

He doesn't approve of things not going his way. Perhaps the agreement between the Initiative and Kadara Port is not to his specifications, but this is her home. Reyes, like Sloane, like all the other Milky Way aliens, is still nothing but a stranger here.

"Director Addison is difficult," she says with a careless shrug. "Is everyone in the Initiative like this? Is that why you left?"

"The Nexus was a sinking ship until Ryder showed up," Reyes says. "Even Sloane was a better option. Kadara is where we went after the Nexus exiled us. It wouldn't surprise me if they hold a grudge."

He doesn't often speak honestly, it's a refreshing change. But regardless of what came before, the Initiative is shaping up to be a powerful ally. Reyes made an enemy out of the Pathfinder, though in fairness, she hadn't seemed to care much for him in the first place.

"I'm not one of you," Keema says. "She has no reason to hold me accountable for your mistakes."

"I've heard she respects practicality, honesty and black tea, none of which can be found easily on Kadara."

He says these things in jest, but for all his faults, Reyes is a keen judge of character. Most who consider themselves charming are. 

"What useless advice," she remarks. "Besides, I am ruthlessly practical when I need to be. The Charlatan wouldn't be in charge of Kadara otherwise."

He smiles, eyes twinkling — even to her eyes he looks suddenly young. " _Touché_."

**4.**

Director Addison looks different in real life. Keema is used to human faces by now: the alien features, the earthy tones of their skin and hair, the colors they paint themselves in. The shadows under her eyes are not painted on, but the color on her lips might be.

The outpost is sheltered, but the wind is rough today. Addison's cheeks flush pink in the chilly air, and in short time, stern lines appear on her forehead. It seems to Keema that this human is unused to being planet-side.

"Let's get to work," she says, looking up at the mountains as if she finds them wanting.

Human women are so soft and slight, but there is a sharpness about this one's face, and when she glares at Keema, the intensity in her eyes would be enough to make a lesser person, even one towering over her, feel quite small. Keema makes herself very calm in the face of this storm.

Christmas Tate, the outpost leader, has brought a drink called coffee to Kadara, thereby turning the humans in her rank into starry-eyed children. The drink must be unsuited for angaran physiology because Keema cannot stand it. She politely wets her lips on the gritty substance in the cup pushed into her hands, attempting to drink as little of is as possible.

Addison looks nothing like Sloane, but when Keema studies her face, she is reminded of their previous conversation and her expression as she said her name. When their new trade agreements have been agreed upon and signed, Addison brings the subject up again, leaning in a little as she hesitates.

"How well did you know Sloane?"

"I was an adviser, of sorts, to her," Keema replies, huffing out a breath. The topic of Sloane is not one Keema wishes to dwell on, but she likes Addison's face like this; softer, as if she's sharing a confidence.

"We were… colleagues, I suppose," Addison says. "Before she left the Nexus. I thought perhaps, well, maybe under different circumstances, we could have been friends."

Keema has not perfected how to read emotion on human faces yet, but they are easier than the turians. There is nothing to the rumor of Sloane's escape, of course — a lie plucked out of nowhere, an empty hope for some and a cause for paranoia for others — but while Sloane still lived, Keema wonders if she knew that someone like Addison still cared.

"Despite requesting my presence by her side," Keema says, "she rarely listened to me. I don't regret her absence. She was rude, unpleasant and — how do you humans put it? — an _ass_."

"I have no interest in speaking ill of the dead," Addison says, but she is not angry, only sad, as if Keema's words resonate with her as well, and only makes her grief bigger.

Hesitating, Keema doesn't know how to phrase what needs to be said. There are few things she could say about Sloane that would be complimentary. She will not lie to placate Addison’s feelings of loss. 

A buzz travels between her fingers; an emotional response she is too old to not easily temper. Regret is useless. It cannot be mended or fixed, only suffered through.

"Kadara is better off without Sloane," she says — the plain truth and the only thing that matters.

**5.**

Efvra does not care enough for Kadara to bother with it, not even when she called him a coward for it. She muddled her way through these strange aliens' behavior, painstakingly learning how to navigate their facial expressions and body language with no help at all. Efvra thought Kadara was worth sacrificing, but he doesn't know this place, he's never stood on this ground and felt the heart of the planet beat under his feet. 

Her people bring her the human's bloodstained belongings, and she cannot wipe away the shame of it. Only a coward would send others to do her dirty work, and Keema doesn't like to think of herself as such. 

Reyes is back in Tartarus. She's heard the name is synonymous with one of the Milky Way aliens' mythological hellscapes, which is appropriate enough. "Your man was working against you," she says, back in the place she hates the most. "I had him killed."

"He was working with Sloane."

Keema shrugs. "Sloane is dead."

"You won't be seeing me for awhile," Reyes says, shuffling his feet under the table. "Business off-planet."

"I'm fully capable of handling things on my own," she replies, projecting a calm she doesn't feel. 

Things are moving, shifting, quicker every day. If she is to stand steady, she must find something to hold onto, some distraction to keep her walking straight.

"Do you have human tea?" she asks Umi in Kralla's Song, which would be a more pleasant establishment than Tartarus if the owner wasn't such a miserable alien nightmare.

Umi looks at her as if she's a bug to crush under her boot. "This is a bar. I sell booze."

"Well, what do you know about it?"

"Earth tea? Dried leaves in hot water. Makes humans all starry-eyed. The rest of the galaxy had a million different versions of it, none of which were good enough for them."

"And if I wanted to acquire some?"

"Don't look at me."

"You're useless. Would you have gotten it for Sloane?"

"Probably."

"Do you have a problem with the Collective?"

"The Outcasts demanded a protection fee. The Collective calls it a tax. Should I be grateful?"

"You run a business. I'm sure you understand that anyone in charge of an enterprise requires finances."

Umi smiles, showing her teeth. "Maybe I just liked Sloane better than you."

**6.**

"Your Outpost is coming along nicely, Pathfinder," Keema informs Ryder when she next passes by. After everything, her allegiance is… uncertain.

"Are you sure?" Ryder grins, putting her hands on her hips. "Addison has been looking kinda frazzled lately. Or, frazzled-er, I guess."

"She is _excessively_ difficult to work with."

"Really? She adores me. We get along like oil and… more oil."

Studying Ryder's face, Keema leans back in the chair. "Our mutual friend sends his best."

Ryder's disposition flips instantly, brow creasing as her smirk falls into a grimace. Humans do look terribly pretty when they're angry. "Reyes Vidal is a slimeball who can _bite_ me."

Why she would want Reyes to bite her, Keema would prefer not to speculate in. Perhaps it's some strange human mating ritual. Reyes sleeps with a lot of men and women, though the Pathfinder never seemed interested, even while they were still on speaking terms. Besides, Keema has heard that Ryder has a preference for those not of her species in general, and angaran men in particular. Keema has personally never seen the appeal in the latter.

"He used you," she says, "but it was only business."

"He used me, and he had Sloane killed right in front of me, in the _shittiest_ fucking way. I don't care if it was business."

Reyes tells the story differently, but that's the way it goes. Sloane wasn't exactly Ryder's best friend while she was still alive. Misplaced guilt can make a person irrational, humans aren't unique in this respect.

"I heard you let her die," she says, pushing the issue. "One would assume that puts your loyalty squarely on Reyes' side."

"If I could turn back time, I wouldn't have gone to that stupid cave in the first place."

"So where does your loyalty lie, Pathfinder?"

"I have no problem with the Collective, but I work with _you_ , not Reyes. I'm sorry, Keema, I know you're friends, but he's a jackass."

Keema smiles, waiting for the angry flush to fade from Ryder's face. "Have you ever," she asks then, "heard of a drink called tea?"

Ryder blinks. "Have I… heard of it?"

"I would like to acquire some. Earth tea, specifically."

"I wouldn't recommend it. I heard the Outpost's got coffee now, if you want a proper drink."

"Oh, it's not for me. I've tasted your food, it's barely edible on a good day. It's a gift for someone."

"For Reyes? I think he's more of a whiskey-out-of-the-bottle type."

"Of course not! It's for your Director Addison. I'm bribing her."

Ryder laughs a little too uproariously. "I don't know if Addison is susceptible to bribery," she says. "I'm not even sure she'd be susceptible to _kittens_."

"If you do this for me, Ryder, I will pay you for it. Reasonably."

"You know, if you really want to get on Addison's good side, I hear she _loves_ poetry."

**7.**

Drop-off arranged, it's not Ryder who comes to meet her, but her turian smuggler, Vetra Nyx. 

"Suvi sent me. Our science officer. She said to tell me that Kadara is not her _cup of tea_ …" At Keema's blank stare, Vetra sighs. "It's supposed to be a joke. I didn't get it either, until she explained it, at length. I'll spare you the details."

Vetra hands her a datapad, upon which is written a string of numbers that is, quite frankly, ludicrous. Keema hands it back with a huff. "Is this an attempt at humor?"

"It's 600 years old and grown in a different galaxy. What did you expect?"

"Something bordering on reasonable?"

"Suvi runs a hard bargain. Take my word on it."

"No one would pay this."

Vetra shrugs. "It's your bribe. Negotiating with Director Addison is taking it out of you, huh?"

"We get along perfectly."

"For what it's worth, your intel is right: she does have a thing for this."

She dangles the bag of tea in front of Keema like bait before an adhi. It's probably a lie; Keema knows a sales pitch when she hears it. 

Vetra regards her, head tilted. Turians are hard to read, but there seems to be something vaguely amused in her features. She's a smuggler, and she knows when a deal is about to be made. Keema would like to flatter herself she is not that easy to read, but apparently she’s lost her touch.

"Good luck," Vetra says when Keema accepts the ridiculous price, and whether it's pity or sympathy in her face is more than Keema can tell.

The next time Addison comes to Kadara, there is a morose sort of air around her.

"I was thinking of Sloane," she says when they walk the perimeter around Ditaeon, making Keema sigh. Why does the topic always return to Sloane? If Keema could, she would forget she ever knew her. 

"What of her?" Keema asks, unable to keep her tone even. 

"Everything that happened before she and the others got to Kadara, how all of unfolded is," Addison starts, pausing and looking into the distance, "my biggest regret. It's not _only_ on me, but enough of it is."

"Knowing Sloane, I'm sure enough of it was on her, too."

"Whatever you thought of Sloane, she used to be a different person. Before all of this."

"I wasn't involved with what happened to her, if that's what you think," Keema says. Her voice sounds defensive even to her own ears. "That doesn't mean it's not to my benefit that she's gone. I'm glad we're rid of her."

It's not a lie — killing Sloane was never part of the arrangement, that was Reyes' business. If any part of her is rattled by it, it is not because of guilt.

"Was she so terrible?" Addison wonders. "Everything I've heard... it's not how I knew her to be."

"She was no worse than any of you other Milky Way aliens, but she thought she owned this place. Kadara belongs to the angara."

"I don't disagree with you. But Sloane was clearly protective of her people, just like you."

"Don't you _dare_ make that comparison." Reaching into her pocket, Keema pulls out the little package she got from Vetra, shoving it into Addison's hands. "I got you a gift. It was cheap. You're welcome."

**8.**

How does one woo a human woman? She's never slept with an alien of any sort — until recently, it was not exactly an option. She _has_ kissed many angaran women, on their lips and ridges and everywhere else; perhaps such things are inappropriate for these aliens. 

"Is this your way of getting over your guilty conscience?" Addison asks, breathless and bright-eyed, half-way undressed on Keema's bed.

For once, Addison takes direction without arguing.

There is something alien right down to her scent, strange and different. Is that scent the same on the edge of her jaw, between her breasts, between her thighs? Keema looks forward to cataloging every nuance.

She is indeed soft and slight, but without most of her clothes, Keema intends to map every plain and angle to her satisfaction. The light in the room is blue and unflattering to Addison's skin, which always is at its most alluring under the Kadaran clouds, in all the shades of red. How would her skin look if they were outside now, she wonders, chest flushed the same pink as her cheeks when the wind blows harshly through Ditaeon?

"I didn't kill her," Keema says, hovering over her. "What would I feel guilty about?"

Addison's eyes are dark and span light-years; maybe one day she will learn the uselessness of guilt and grief. Maybe no one ever does, and Keema is just as much of a fool as everyone else.

"I'm not here to tell you what to feel," Addison says, catching her cheek with her hand, beckoning her closer. "I'm just wondering if this is about me or someone else."

"Addison," Keema replies, with utmost honesty. "I have always found it very hard to think about anyone but you when you're in the room."

The next thing out of Addison's mouth is much cruder. Luckily, it also involves practical instructions for how to proceed. 

It is hours later when Ryder arrives back on Kadara — just as Addison's shuttle headed for the Nexus departs, in fact. Keema has more important things to do than Pathfinder business, but considering everything, she makes the time.

"Suvi wants to know if your bribe worked. It was a tough decision for her to part with her tea."

"You may tell her that our negotiations were able to reach a mutually satisfying conclusion."

Behind the Pathfinder, Vetra snorts.

**9.**

The time comes for her plans to unfold and she does not hesitate. 

Kadara belongs to the angara. The colony will blossom and grow, and there is little point in resisting the mingling of their peoples, but the port is angaran. There's no place for someone like Reyes there, as little as there was room for someone like Sloane.

He is brought to her in chains, with no trace of his usual facade of easygoing charm. The bruises on his face tells her he resisted. He does not need to kneel before her chair to make the picture of his submission and failure complete.

"I've taken the liberty of changing your passwords and locking you out," Keema says. "As you know, I'm familiar with your aliases. Even the ones you didn't tell me about."

"I admit, I didn't see it coming," Reyes says, licking the cut on his lip.

"The angara on Kadara are loyal to me. You were very helpful in getting rid of the people who might have been against me. There's no one left alive who knows what you used to be to the Collective — at least, no one who's not loyal to me. I'm afraid you played your part a little too well, old friend."

"So. You saved Sloane. The two of you have been working together."

Leaning back on her chair, Keema doesn't bother to hide her smirk. "Sloane is dead. While you've been looking for ghosts, the Charlatan has been here, running this port."

"A well-played game," he says, albeit grudgingly, bowing as far as her guards will allow. "Until we meet again, Charlatan."

Out in the Kadara mountains, the sky is bleak. 

Turians are the hardest to read of these Milky Way people. He eyes her warily; afraid, perhaps, of what they'll find. 

"They gave me a sack with a body," he says. "I never looked inside." 

There's a big rock by the side of the grave, marked by a symbol she doesn't recognize. He touches the stone with reverence. 

"I didn't want Sloane in charge of this place," he says. "But none of us would have left the Nexus alive if not for her."

"Dig."

Keema is not squeamish, not when it matters. She brushes away Kadaran soil from the sack and cuts it open with her knife, staring long and hard at an unfamiliar face. The body has started to decay, rot eating away at her cheeks, something crawling further down. She was asari, and whoever she was, she is long since dead, buried in another's grave. 

She was the one who started the rumor that Sloane survived, she was the one who weaved a tale of rumors for Reyes to hear, and she was the one who arranged for Kaetus to run away. A whole tangle of lies that turned out to be true. 

"If I didn't bury Sloane," the turian says, "where is she?"

Keema straightens up, hand still on her knife, ready to act, should she have to. "Does it matter? She's not here. Are you going to go find her? Repay your debt?"

"There is no debt. Reyes is no friend of mine, but Sloane burned her bridges."

Reyes is friends with everyone and no one, a charming acquaintance, a shadow flitting from place to place. Sloane made a hundred enemies out of every friend so loyal they'd die for her. 

"So where does that leave us?" Keema wonders, breathing easier as she sheaths her knife.

"The Collective is doing a good job here. That's all that matters to me."

Glancing down at the asari body, she cannot help but wonder. Did someone kill her to save a woman unworthy of such a sacrifice? Was she snatched from another grave, somewhere? If Sloane did not die, what hole did she crawl into?

She has long since learned to live with the weight of guilt, the culpability of more hurts than she might prefer, but there is one death less on her conscience.

"Bring her," she says, gesturing at the body. "We'll give her a proper burial."

**10.**

Elaaden is a miserable place. The angara long ago gave up on it, but the aliens are stubborn and persistent. What little she knows of the krogan tells her they might enjoy the challenge.

"So how did you survive a sniper?" Keema asks, leaning back in her chair, looking across the table in Paradise. 

There's a lot of things in Sloane's eyes, too much for Keema to sort through. "One of Vidal's people got squeamish," she says, same sloppy posture as when she used to sit on her chair back on Kadara. "Patched me up instead of finishing the job. Woke up in a cargo freighter with a hole in my chest and most of my blood on the outside. You here to finish the job?"

"That was Reyes' business," Keema replies. "I wanted Kadara. I didn't know what Reyes planned to do, but I didn't care either way."

Anger, sharp and quick, settles on Sloane's face, mouth twisting into a grimace. "Heart-warming."

"Kadara always belonged to the angara, until you. Now it's ours again, as it should be."

"Fuck that shit. Fuck Reyes, fuck Kadara, fuck you."

Keema sighs. "Eloquent as usual. You know, I signed an agreement with the Initiative. We're cleaning up our businesses. Won't happen in a day, but we'll get there."

"Got big plans, do you? I know how that story goes."

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't. Come and see for yourself."

"What makes you think I'd ever set my foot on Kadara again?" Sloane scoffs, anger obvious in every line of her face. "Got the scar to prove how my previous arrangement with you panned out."

"That arrangement was with Reyes. He's no longer welcome planet-side."

"Good to know there's one place I don't have to look for that fuckwit. Soon as I've healed up I'm gonna put a bullet between his eyes."

"Don't be a fool, Sloane."

Sloane stares at her for a long moment, finally leaning forward on the table, the furrows on her brow deepening. "Why are you here, if not to try to get rid of me again?"

"I'm running an errand. Here," Keema says, handing over the little bag of beans she left Kadara to deliver. "I can't stand the taste of it myself, but I was told you might treasure it."

"Trying to poison me, Keema?" Sloane leans back in her chair with a grimace, and in the shadows by the wall, Kaetus stands up straighter. "I suppose it's a change from putting a knife in my back."

"It's not from me. We have a mutual friend."

"That seems unlikely."

Standing, Keema looks down at Sloane's scowl, giving her a smile in return. "The coffee is from Addison," she says. "Stay alive, Sloane. I don't want to dig up another grave to find you again."


End file.
